


Undone

by eragon19



Series: Prompt Fills [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, John Loves Sherlock, John has a new hobby, Kissing, M/M, Nipple Play, No Mary, POV Third Person, Rimming, Sherlock Loves John, Smut, and Sherlock has no idea what to do with himself, hehe, john is sexy, luckily John does, sherlokc's pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 08:34:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8198299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eragon19/pseuds/eragon19
Summary: Sherlock has a very important question to ask John, one that could change the nature of their relationship irrevocably. He never expected John to be so affable about it, and he certainly never expected John's new hobby to drive him so obscenely mad.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HighTimesWithHiddles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HighTimesWithHiddles/gifts).



> This is a prompt fill for the wonderful and talented 221BeStillMyHeart or Lynn! I can't put the prompt here as it has spoilers, but it's one I'm super excited to write!

Sherlock let out a sigh of frustration as he watched John hail a cab and leave the crime scene. The wind tugged at his coat and ruffled his hair, making the crime scene tape flutter. He knew he shouldn’t be frustrated. He _knew_ John’s job was important to him, despite how boring John complained it was. He _knew_ John had responsibilities outside of The Work, and he knew how much being a good employee meant to John. He _knew_ this, yet this knowledge didn’t ease the frustration that welled up inside of him every time John had to leave hi- the case- for work.

This case was a _nine_ damn it. Nines were few and far between, plus (and this was something Sherlock only recently discovered) nines felt more like twos when John wasn’t with him.

He sighed again and turned back to Lestrade, who was smiling knowingly at him for some reason, before launching into an explanation of what he’d discovered so far.

 

***

 

This was really getting ridiculous. Sherlock growled this time, as John shot him a smile tinged with disappointment and left their current client’s house for the nearest tube station. He was leaving Sherlock on a case. _Again_.

What Sherlock didn’t understand was why John didn’t just quit his job and join him full time on the cases. The Mary Incident, as it was known in Sherlock’s mind, was long passed. John was back at Baker Street full time, and Sherlock had picked back up a steady stream of clients, _paying_ clients. They didn’t need John’s pay cheque to pay the bills, and going by the look on John’s face, John liked leaving Sher- _the_ _cases_ \- just as much as Sherlock did.

Clearly this was something Sherlock would have to bring up with John, since the man showed no signs of having figured it out for himself. Or even if he had thought of it, he probably had some notion of assumed impropriety that was preventing him from simply _asking_ Sherlock. He straightened his posture as his client bustled back into the stuffy sitting room he’d been waiting in, laying the thought to rest for now.

“I believe this is the amount your website stipulated?” she said, handing Sherlock a cheque decorated with a miserable looking Robin.

Sherlock threw a cursory glance at the amount and nodded sharply, tucking it into his jacket pocket. The cheque had given him an idea that might help him convince John his job at the clinic wasn’t necessary anymore.

“If you would show me your daughter’s bedroom, I can begin my investigation,” he said, tucking his idea safely away in his mind palace and turning his attention back to case.

 

 

***

 

Sherlock lay on the couch in his customary thinking pose when he heard the door to 221 slam shut and John’s quick footsteps on the stairs. That was a good sign, it meant he’d had a descent day at work and would be more open to his suggestion.  He shut his eyes and quickly steepled his fingers under his chin as the door to 221b opened. John strode through, smelling like the rain drops that fell off his coat as he hung it up.

“Hey Sherlock.”

Sherlock could hear the smile in John’s voice and fought to keep his face neutral. He was supposed to be in his mind palace after all. Lately, it had become harder and harder to ignore John when he was trying to think.

Sherlock knew why. Of course he did. He was a genius after all, but that didn’t make the conclusion he’d drawn any less dangerous.

He kept still and listened to the thumps as John took off his shoes and soft sounds of his footsteps as he headed into the kitchen. There was the gurgle of the kettle filling (long enough for two cups), the click of the switch, and the other mundane sounds of John making tea for them.

Usually, these sounds were soothing to Sherlock. They helped ground him as he sifted through his mind palace and made him feel safe enough to go deep. After the incident on the plane, it had taken him months to feel safe enough to enter such a deep level of his mind again. Even now, months later, still only did so when John was home (not that the doctor knew that). Today, instead of being soothing, the sounds put him on edge. He needed John to make the tea and sit at his laptop so he could _see_.

Finally, _finally_ there was a _thunk_ of a cup being set on the coffee table for Sherlock, footsteps, and the soft click of John opening his laptop.

Sherlock held his breath and waited. And waited. And _waited_.

“Sherlock?” John’s voice was tentative, “Why is there an application for a joint bank account open here?”

Sherlock exhaled slowly and opened his eyes. John sounded curious, which was a good sign.

“That should be fairly obvious, John,” he said, sitting up and swallowing hard.

John rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the screen.

“You want us to open a joint account. Why?”

“For our income,” Sherlock said, propping his feet on the coffee table and folding his hands on his lap, trying to be as casual as possible.

“ _We_ don’t have an income Sherlock. I mean we have separate incomes, but not-

“Yes _we_ do,” Sherlock cut in. “ _We_ have worked several high profile cases together in the last few months, where _you_ played an integral part in solving them. Therefore, _we_ have an income.”

John was staring at him, brow furrowed. “I help you Sherlock, but you’re the detective. I just help out where I can and write them up.”

Sherlock was shaking his head before John was even finished speaking. Why couldn’t John see how important he was?

“Where do you think my clients come from, John? They see _your_ blog, and you do more than just _help out._ You- you’re my partner.”

Sherlock took a deep breath. He’d said everything he possibly could on the matter without revealing his lo- _feelings_ for John. Now he just had to hope the doctor would see reason.

“So…you want us to share the money we make on the cases? That wouldn’t be fair, Sherlock. I make enough at the clinic and I don’t want to mooch off of you so-

Sherlock flopped back onto the sofa. He’d been expecting John to have this sort of hang-up. Clearly he would have to spell it out for him, accidental revelations be damned.

“We make enough from the cases, so you don’t need your job at the clinic. You could quit and work with me full time, then there would be no need to worry about _mooching_.” Sherlock’s speech got faster and faster. The way it always did when he was desperate to show someone he was right. “I assure you John; you would be much more than an assistant. Without you who would stimulate me? Who would help with the finer aspects of emotion that I’m blind too? Who would point out when a softer approach would gain better results and then execute that approach so flawlessly? Who would be my conductor of light?”

He stopped abruptly, realizing he was dangerously close to saying something he wasn’t ready to admit. Sherlock peeked cautiously at John, and was relieved to see the man was smiling at him, his eyes very soft. 

“So what your saying is, you want me to quit my job at the clinic and work with you full time, and we’ll share the money?”

Sherlock nodded, swallowing hard. He’d said all he could for sure this time, now it was up to John.

“You have to admit; you hate leaving the cases for your shifts.”

“That’s true,” John said, smiling at him. He eyed the form on the laptop screen again, considering. “We’ll have my army pension, in case there’s a long lull between cases.”

“We’ll have my inheritance too.” Sherlock said, his heart soring. John was going to say yes!

John pulled the laptop closer, his eyes dancing, “So it says here we’ll need two forms of ID and we’ll have to go to the bank in person to complete the paper work.”

Sherlock was sure he’d never been happier.

 

***

 

Things were going wonderfully. John had been working with him full time for four months, two weeks and six days, and every single moment had been glorious. Well, of course not _every_ single moment. There were still times when they fought, and grated against each other’s nerves, but those moments didn’t even come close to the sheer _joy_ Sherlock felt knowing that John would always be at his side for the work.

There was one thing that was bothering Sherlock though, and had been for some time now. He had tried to ignore it, to rationalize it away, but that was proving to be less and less effective as time passed.

John had been going _somewhere_ in the gaps between cases. Sherlock couldn’t figure out exactly where John was going, which irked him to no end. Whenever there was a lull between cases, or a gap with in one, John would go to this _place_ for one and half to two hours, and then come home sweaty and pink cheeked.

At first Sherlock thought John was going to the gym. This theory was quickly discarded as John never wore his workout clothes when he went to this place, nor did he carry a bag. Also, John always had a habit of telling Sherlock he was ‘heading to the gym’ when he was, so it couldn’t be there. Sherlock would have to keep investigating.

The door to 221 slammed shut. John was back from this _place_. Perfect. Sherlock sat up from his position on the couch and ruffled his hair. John smiled brightly at him as he entered the flat, and took off his coat.

Sherlock drank in the sight of him and swallowed hard.

John was panting slightly, much more than he normally would after he ran up the stairs. His hair was deliciously rumpled, and wet with sweat at the base of his neck and temples. His face was flushed, but it was the expression on John’s face that really took Sherlock’s breath away. John’s eyes were sparkling with exhilaration, and a wide smile covered his face.

Sherlock couldn’t help but let his eyes wander over John’s body. These days John had been looking extremely fit. His shoulders had broadened, and his waist looked trimmer. The fact that he hadn’t bought new clothes recently just emphasised this, much to Sherlock’s delight. His jumpers and shirts now pulled taught over his chest and hung lose over his stomach.  All of this combined made him look roguish, incredibly handsome and- and _debauched_.

That last word made Sherlock’s mind grind to a halt. The thought was a new one and caused his stomach to twist. Surly John wasn’t- he’d seemed so- so content with Sherlock and the work over these past few months.

_But content wasn’t the same as satisfied, now was it?_

Sherlock pressed his lips together and stood up. He followed John into the kitchen where he was rummaging in the fridge. Quietly padding up behind John, he leaned over the man’s shoulder to snag the milk. The move brought his body right up behind John, until Sherlock’s chin brushed through John’s hair. John jumped slightly, then threw Sherlock a smile, his eyes still dancing from-

Sherlock cut off that train of thought and inhaled subtly. There it was. Under the smell of wool and sweat there was the smell of cologne. A cologne that wasn’t John’s.

Sherlock’s stomach plummeted. He numbly set the milk on the counter and strode off toward his bedroom, not even hearing John calling after him.  In the sitting room, when he first thought John’s absences were related to sex, he’d thought it had been with another woman. The smell proved otherwise. It was another _man_ , which was somehow worse in Sherlock’s mind.

He’d thought they were heading in that direction, that John felt the same way he did. That John lov-

After everything they’d been through together; Moriarty, Magnussen, _Mary,_ he had foolishly believed that he and John would finally get their time together. That they would finally be able to let the feelings between them grow and bloom, until they were ready to address it.

It looked like that wasn’t to be.

Sherlock flopped onto his bed and curled into a ball on his side. His mind raced over the details that backed up his conclusion. It wasn’t just the smell of cologne; a new romantic relationship explained John’s elevated mood, his desire to be fit, the way he smiled more and the glow in his eyes.

Sherlock clenched his eyes shut and curled his hands into fits. Jealously surged through him as he unwilling pictured John and some shadowy figure sat close together in a warm cafe, laughing and _touching_. He ground his teeth as he thought of John, _his John_ , and that man twisted together in bed. In his mind he could see the mystery man’s hands gliding over John’s skin, _stroking_ and _caressing_. He probably knew what John liked and how John sounded when he-

He slammed the door on that train of thought before it could form fully. He had John’s friendship, that should be enough, right? Right.

_Who are you kidding?_

He wanted John. He _ached_ for him, and now someone else had the audacity to get in the way. Sherlock scrubbed a hand over his eyes, and rolled onto his back. What was he supposed to do now?

The thought of John possibly leaving again made him quake. He couldn’t go through that again, not after everything. He wouldn’t. The last time this had happened, he had stepped back. The thoughts of putting John’s happiness first, and his uncertainty over his own feelings had forced him to let John go. He wouldn’t be doing that again, not when he was sure how he felt. He would fight this time.

He needed- he needed- he needed more data on this mystery man. He couldn’t fight someone for John without knowing anything about the man. In the mean time he’d need to show John he would be a better romantic partner than whoever _this person_ was.

Mind made up, he sat up and flung his legs off the bed. Making John tea was the first order of business.

 

***

 

It had been two weeks. Two weeks since John had gone to _that place_. Sherlock thought his plan of showing John a relationship with him would be more enjoyable than whatever he was up to with _that man_. He’d been making John tea, he’d done the shopping, he had even gone to the pub with John and Lestrade, and suffered through an evening of knowing looks for the DI. He didn’t dare tell John how he felt as yet _, that man_ had to be out of the equation before Sherlock would even consider telling John anything.

He thought it had been working since John had stopped visiting _him._ Until today. Today John had given his shoulder a squeeze as he sat working on an experiment and headed out. Which is what led Sherlock to his current situation; dressed in jeans and an old sweat shirt as he tailed John. 

So far John hadn’t noticed him. John trotted along at quick pace, his stride revealing his excitement. It made Sherlock’s heart hurt, to see John so excited over someone else, someone who was not him. In Sherlock’s mind John’s lover had taken on Adonis-like qualities. He would be everything Sherlock wasn’t. Blond and built, where Sherlock was thin and wiry, kind and clam where Sherlock was harsh and volatile. Sherlock shook his head to clear his mind. He would find out if his deductions were right soon enough.

John turned down a side street and Sherlock lingered at the corner, losing himself in the crowd as John opened a metal door and ducked through. This was…odd. the building wasn’t residential, unless it was a club. He waited five minutes before following John through the door, giving the doctor enough time to get well inside the building so he wouldn’t notice Sherlock enter.

When he pushed through the door, his brow furrowed in confusion. This was not what he had thought _at all._

He was in a boxing ring. The door opened onto a low, shadowed metal balcony with a long flight of stairs leading to an open space below. Over the railing, Sherlock could see a ring in the center of the large room. Thick read and blue ropes framed the square elevated mat. It was a boxing ring, an honest to god boxing ring.

There were a few people milling around down below, but none of them noticed Sherlock. They were chatting and stretching, obviously preparing for a go in the ring. The echoing thud of a door closing in the carnivorous space drew Sherlock’s attention. The door appeared to lead into a locker room, from what little he could see in his position. It was who was coming through the door that made Sherlock’s heart stop.

It was John, but John as Sherlock had never seen him.

The man was dressed in lose, dark blue boxing shorts and nothing else. He looked _incredible_.

Sherlock had noticed John had gotten fit, but now he could see just _how_ fit. His stomach was hard and his shoulders were broader. The muscles of his biceps and forearms flexed and bunched in a way that had Sherlock blinking rapidly as John held up his hands to be taped up before the fight.

John turned to face in Sherlock’s direction, his hands [bound and ready](http://us.123rf.com/450wm/gorosi/gorosi1605/gorosi160500170/57212524-black-and-white-photography-of-athlete-with-tape-on-the-hands-closeup.jpg?ver=6) for the fight. Sherlock’s jaw actually dropped when he saw John from the front. His chest had broadened along with his shoulders, his pectorals now hard and strong. The bullet wound was a star shaped patch of pink skin on his shoulder that did nothing to mar the beauty of John’s body. Instead it made him look dangerous, interesting.

His abdomen was just as delicious from the front as it had been from the side; firm and delicately carved into symmetrical pads of muscle. And his _hips,_ Sherlock’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. He swallowed hard as he drank in the deep grooves that ran from John’s hipbones and disappeared under the [waist band of his shorts](http://www.visualphotos.com/photo/2x2557721/close-up-of-boxers-taped-hand.jpg). John had an Adonis belt, gorgeously emphasised by his low-riding shorts. He radiated masculinity and was _mouthwatering_.

Luckily for Sherlock, John hadn’t seen him yet. He stood in place, fists curled in close to his chin. As Sherlock watched in rapture, John jabbed his fists forward sharply, executing a series of perfectly controlled punches.

Boxing, John had been learning to _box._ That explained the foreign smell, sweatiness and elation. Sherlock felt relief rush through him. John wasn’t seeing someone else, which meant Sherlock still had a chance. For once he was glad he’d been wrong.

Sherlock kept his eyes glued to John. The bright over head lights and recessed position of the balcony kept him in the shadows. He was confident no one would see him, something he became very, _very_ grateful for when John turned his back to him and began swinging his arms at shoulder level, loosening up the muscles and causing them to flex and ripple in a way that made Sherlock’s cheeks burn.

As he watched, John finished his warm ups and headed for the ring. A very tall, equally well built [Indian man](http://images.indiatvnews.com/entertainmentbollywood/2015/1433419767sidharth-malhotra.jpg) with an elaborate geometric tattoo covering him from right shoulder to hip, joined him behind the ropes. The two men smiled wickedly at each other and bumped fists before retreating to their corners of the ring.

A man in a referee shirt stepped between them and raised a whistle to his lips. Sherlock felt his anticipation grow. He stepped closer to the edge of the balcony and gripped the railing, his breath coming in sharp puffs. The ref blew sharply on the whistle and the match began.

The men squared of in the center of the ring, their taped hands held at chin level. Suddenly, the tattooed man feinted right and the struck out with his left fist, aiming for John’s jaw. John blocked the blow easily and dropped his left arm low, before curling it upward and punching the other man in the ribs. The man grunted and danced backward, out of John’s reach.

John retreated himself, bringing his fist back up to his chin and keeping light on his toes. The deadly focus in his eyes was making Sherlock’s head spin. He wondered what being under that gaze would feel like. Probably like been pinned by a predator. Maybe if he conducted another disgusting experiment in the kitchen, he would find out. Maybe John turn that deadly gaze on him while stalking toward him, promising to punish Sherlock for wrecking the-

A sharp grunt yanked him out of his thoughts and back to the fight going on below. Tattoo had landed a hit, a sharp kick to John’s thigh. John quickly brought his fists up and delivered two quick jabs to the man’s abdomen, causing him to grunt in pain and back off. John didn’t let him go far. He hooked his foot around the man’s ankle attempting to throw him to the mat. His opponent grabbed John’s shoulders, pressing them together, as he fought to stay in his feet.

Sherlock licked his lips as their muscular, sweaty torsos slid together. The blood in his cheeks was taking a decidedly southern route. John was _amazing_.

The two men grappled for dominance, arms locked around each other as they both struggled to stay up right. Finally, John managed to tear himself free from the other man’s hold. He hooked his arm around his opponent’s body and spun him around, pressing his chest up against the man’s back, his arm curled around his collar bones. The man grunted, his body arching in John’s arms. Every single muscle in John’s arms stood out in stark relief as he held his opponent steady.

They struggled for a moment, before John jabbed his opponent in the back of the knee with his own. The man stumbled and John took his chance. In no time he had the man pinned to the mat. The referee hurried over and began counting. John’s opponent was panting hard, trying to twist himself free. It was no use. The ref finished his count and John let his opponent up to a smattering of cheers from the few people standing around the ring.

Grinning John stood up, raising his arms over his head in a mock cheer. His opponent hopped to his feet, smiling. He slapped John on the back and offered his congratulations. Clearly being beaten by John was something that had happened to him before, based on his reaction.

Sherlock could care less about the other man. His eyes were riveted on John, as the man stood panting in the center of the ring. Sweat was trickling down his body, making his torso gleam in the light. Sherlock wanted to climb down and lick every bead of sweat from his body.

As John hopped over the ropes and went to have his hands untapped, Sherlock backed toward the door. He needed to leave before John caught him. Plus, he felt like he needed some…alone time to processes everything new he’d learned about John. Moving as quietly as possible, he left the building. His mind was whirling with images of him in the place of the Indian boxer, in a decidedly more intimate setting.

If Sherlock had looked back on his way out, he would have seen John looking up at the balcony, a sly smirk on his face.

 

***

 

“Did you enjoy the show?”

Sherlock jumped a mile at the sound of John’s voice. He was standing at the window, violin poised to play. He’d been standing there for the better part of an hour, but so far he hadn’t played a single note. His mind was cluttered with images of John, strong and sexy as he fought. The competence and ease of his movements. His roguish smile. The strength behind each of his moves.

Sherlock turned to face John, now dressed in the same jeans and shirt he’d left the flat in. The doctor was smiling at him the same way he’d smiled at the opponent in the ring; wide and wicked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sherlock said, his tone neutral, as he turned back to window.

“I saw you, you great berk. Up on the balcony like the bloody Phantom of the Opera. Did you enjoy the match?”

Sherlock swallowed, and turned to John again. He didn’t seem the least bit angry that Sherlock had followed him and spied on him. If anything he seemed amused.

“I- yes I did. You’re very...talented John.”

John’s grin got wider, “Thanks. I was wondering how long it would take you to figure out where I was going.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, “Do you usually keep things form me as a test?”

John’s smile turned sheepish, raising a hand to scratch the back of his neck, “Well, actually, I was hoping to get an opportunity to use what I learnt on a case. As a surprise I guess.”

Sherlock blinked at him, feeling his face heat. John was learning to fight to help with the work, and to surprise him?

 “Next time you decide come, stand ring-side ok?  The view is much better.” John said, with a sly smile and a wink.

He turned and began unbuttoning his shirt as he headed for the bathroom. Sherlock got a glimpse of John’s shoulder muscles flexing as he shrugged the shirt off his shoulders, before he turned down the corridor and disappeared from view.

When he heard the bathroom door shut, Sherlock slumped into his armchair with his violin clutched weakly in his hands. John Watson was going to be the death of him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A great big thank you to 221BeStillMyHeart for being an awesome beta reader, and thank you to every one who's enjoying the story so far! :)

Sherlock moaned and thrust up harder against his hand. John crouched over him, his lips fastened around Sherlock’s nipple, his tongue flicking over the nub. One of John’s small, strong hands was hard on his hip, while the other was clamped tightly around Sherlock’s wrist, pinning it above his head. Sherlock moaned and struggled against John’s hold. Not because he wanted to get away, but because he wanted to feel John’s strength holding him in place.

He worked his hand faster as John began to lick and suck at his neck, nipping hard on Sherlock’s ear lobe.

“J-John,” Sherlock gasped.

John pulled back and smiled wickedly down at him, before he dove down for a kiss. John never spoke to him in these instances. He smiled and winked but he never said a word. Sherlock groaned again, as John took his nipple between his teeth and tugged. He worked his fist harder over his cock, thumbing the glands and flicking over the head.

Holding his hand steady, Sherlock dug his heels into the mattress and began to thrust into his fist. His eyes were screwed shut as he imagined John’s toned body as he’d seen it at the ring two days ago. The ridges of his abs, the deep grooves under his hips. The way his arm muscles would bulge and flex as he held Sherlock’s hips steady and pulled at Sherlock’s cock. John was so strong he’d probably just need one hand to pin Sherlock’s wrists to the bed. He’d hold them crossed over Sherlock’s head as he thumbed over the slit and- and-

Sherlock gasped and let out a long moan as he came all over his stomach, his brain whiting out in pleasure. He worked himself through it, panting hard as he thought about John hovering over him, smiling roguishly. With one last ragged gasp he dropped back onto the mattress and opened his eyes.

Early morning light was sliding into his room through a crack in the curtains. He stretched lazily, enjoying the endorphins running through him and trying to tramp down on his guilt. It was _fine_. What happened in the privacy of his own mind was harmless, John would never know, it was _all fine._ He yawned and trailed a hand over his stomach and through a streak of his come. His mind did what it had been doing during down time for the past two days; replaying John’s fight at the ring.

Shaking the thought from his head, Sherlock jumped out of bed and headed for the shower. He had several interesting body parts waiting for him at the morgue and no time for his thoughts to get derailed by John’s body. Again.

 

***

 

Sighing in frustration, Sherlock made his way up the stairs of 221b. The body parts hadn’t been as interesting as he thought. Even worse, Molly had called in sick, leaving Sherlock to deal with some soppy replacement pathologist who kept making eyes at him, and wouldn’t even let him into the chemical cupboard.

In the past, Sherlock would have had no qualms about using the pathologist’s attraction to get what he wanted. Today, he found that he couldn’t. Not because he was incapable of flirting, he very much was. It just didn’t feel right. Not in terms of his morals, those stopped him from flirting with Molly, but everyone else was still free reign. It just felt like a betrayal somehow, which made no sense since there was no one to betray. Oh who was he kidding of course there was. He knew exactly who it was but-

His thoughts came to a screeching stop when he entered the living room.

There, on the floor, in all his glory, was John Watson. Doing one-armed pushups. Shirtless.

Sherlock’s mouth felt like cotton wool as he stared at John, mesmerized by the bunch and flex of his muscles as he propelled his body up and down with ease.

Sherlock swallowed and took in the rest of John’s position. The doctor was next to their living room table, one hand planed on the ground and the other clenched in a fist at the small of his back. The pose pushed the muscles of his arms into stark relief, allowing Sherlock to see every taught tendon pressed up against John’s skin. Each up and down movement caused John’s shoulder and back muscles to ripple and flex in a way that made Sherlock think of a lion on the prowl. Coiled and dangerous and ready to spring.

He let out a breath as his eyes traveled down the groove of John’s spine to the dips of his lower back and back up again. His face felt far too hot, and he suddenly became aware of just how the silk of his shirt clung to his body. God, he was done for.

He must have made some sort of noise. It was testament to just how distracting John was that Sherlock didn’t notice the sound leaving his mouth. The doctor turned to him and smiled, not stopping the up and down movement of his body. Sherlock tried his best to smile back as naturally as possible. Whatever contortion his face did must have been amusing, as John’s smile suddenly turned smug.

John pushed up from his position on the floor and Sherlock swallowed again, as he was given an unhindered, _close-up_ view, of John’s toned torso. It was simultaneously the best and worst thing that had ever happened to Sherlock. The best because he could now see each, individual drop of sweat as they trickled between the grooves of John’s muscles, making him look slick and dangerous. The worst because his cock was making it known just how much Sherlock had enjoyed watching John exercise.

John stretched his arms over his head, making the muscles of his abdomen pull taught. That was it, Sherlock had to get to his room before he embarrassed himself and his friend. He turned to head for his room, keeping his coat on and praying John wouldn’t ask, when John’s voice stopped him.

“My shoulder muscles are a little sore Sherlock. Can you help me?”

Sherlock stopped dead, and turned to John, “What?” he winced at the breathy edge to his voice.

“Could you help me?” John asked, smiling at him and rolling his shoulders. “Get the stiffness out I mean?”

Sherlock stared at him, until John huffed out a laugh. “It’s just a little shoulder rub Sherlock. It won’t kill you. Please?”

How wrong John was. This would be the very thing that would kill Sherlock and it would be all John’s fault. Still touching John would be a pleasant last activity to do.

Not trusting his voice, Sherlock nodded and strode over. He still had his gloves on, so it’s not like he’d be touching John’s bare ( _smooth, wonderful)_ skin.

He walked around John, and stood behind him, taking in the view of [John’s back](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/97/ca/6a/97ca6aae927cac5b781b30960023c5af.jpg) and the delicious contours of his muscles. Shaking his head, he snapped his eyes to the kitchen. The faster he did this the faster he could retreat to his room.  He hurriedly placed his hands on John’s shoulders and gave them a squeeze. John winced, pulling away slightly, and Sherlock felt his stomach drop.

“Your gloves are too cold, take them off.” John said, rolling his shoulders again.

Fuck.

He should refuse. He should say he had an important experiment and make a break for it, but he couldn’t.  The thought of being allowed to touch John, to feel that warm muscled flesh under his hands, was too intoxicating.

Hands shaking slightly, he slid off his gloves and rubbed his hands together to warm them before placing them on John’s shoulders. John’s shoulders drooped at the contact, his head hanging forward. For Sherlock it was better than he could have imagined. John’s skin was smooth and firm under his hands. Sherlock dug in carefully, kneading the muscles under all that glorious, golden skin.

“Oh that’s it,” John groaned, “That’s lovely.”

Sherlock blushed, and pressed his lips together. He could imagine John saying that under _very_ different circumstances and it wasn’t helping.

He kept up the massage, while John kept up a litany of murmured praise. He couldn’t help but look at the man as he rubbed, taking in the gold-grey of John’s hair, the freckles on his shoulders, a close up view of his scar. As he worked, John’s muscles relaxed under his hands, and the praise turned into a series of satisfied groans. Just when Sherlock felt like he would scream with frustration, John finally, _finally_ stepped forward, dislodging Sherlock’s hands.

“Thank you Sherlock,” he said, smiling over his shoulder. “That was wonderful.”

With that John disappeared up the stairs to his room. Sherlock stood in the middle of the living room for a moment his hands limp at his sides as he thought about the _noises_ John had made during the shoulder rub.

Swallowing, he hustled into his room, he needed to commit those sounds to his mind palace as quickly as possible.

 

***

 

“Hurry John!” Sherlock yelled as he tore around the corner, his coat flapping behind him.

He could hear John hot on his heels. Another perk of John’s boxing was that he was faster. Now Sherlock didn’t have to worry about leaving him behind.

It was a week after the massage incident and Sherlock had been climbing the walls. His libido, which had always been on the average side, had gone into over drive. The new data of John’s moans and his praise took a starring role in Sherlock’s showers now. Luckily John hadn’t noticed, unfortunately this meant he had no qualms about walking around the flat in his vest or- God help him- shirtless. Sherlock had perfected the art of hiding his arousal beneath pillows, and whatever else was on hand.  Just as he felt he’d either need to confront John or go mad, Lestrade had called with a case.

He skidded around the corner of the ally, breathing hard, and surveyed the space behind the warehouse. He and John were tracking a drug smuggler, turned human trafficker, named Peter Minchel. The man had been responsible for the kidnapping of dozens of women. They had finally made a break in the case yesterday when Sherlock had figured out where the ladies were kept before they were sent overseas. They’d lain a trap for Minchel at the warehouse and the idiot had done a runner.

Sherlock carefully looked around the alley. He motioned for John to stay behind him as the doctor caught up. Minchel was crafty and ruthless, the last thing they needed was for him to catch them off guard. He eased his way into the alley, keeping his eyes peeled. John stayed a few steps behind him, surveying the back and their left, while Sherlock took care of their front and right.

“Careful John. Minchel knows we’ve found the women, and at least one of them will be willing to testify. He won’t come quietly.”

The two of them reached a split in the alley between the two warehouses. A quick glance showed that both looked deserted. They nodded once at each other, before John went right and Sherlock headed left.  The warehouse walls rose up high on either side of him. It was the right wall that concern Sherlock the most, it had for too many windows for his liking. He made it about half way down the alley when suddenly, there was a sharp scraping sound from behind him.

Spinning around he was surprised to see Minchel sliding out of a window, as clam as you please. He’d thought the man would try to slip away without confrontation.  He quirked an eyebrow at the iron pipe clutched in Minchel’s hand, as his mind whirled with half-formed plans for the best way to apprehend him.

“Well if it isn’t Sherlock fucking Holmes,” Minchel sneered, “I should be honored.”

He bowed mockingly at Sherlock, before lifting the pipe and advancing on him.

Sherlock kept his hands loose at his sides, waiting for Minchel to get close enough so he could grab the pipe.

“Surely you don’t think adding assault to your charges will help your case?” Sherlock drawled in his best ‘you blithering idiot’ voice. The angrier Minchel was, the more likely he would be to make a mistake.

“If I’m going away for as long as you say I am, one other charge won’t make a difference now would it?” Minchel growled before rushing forward and swinging the pipe.

Sherlock dodged left, causing Minchel to blow past him. The man skidded to a stop and spun around, swinging the pipe hard. Sherlock was ready for him. He grabbed the pipe and yanked, pulling Minchel toward him as he swung his other fist backward for a punch.

Minchel was quicker than he thought. He hooked his foot around Sherlock’s ankle and let go of the pipe, causing Sherlock to fall hard to the alley floor. Damn it! He should have anticipated that move! His shoulder scraped the wall as he went down hard on his arse. Minchel laughed cruelly above him, and lifted his leg to give Sherlock a kick.

The sound of running footsteps caused both of them to look back to the mouth of the alley. John Watson was running towards them, a look of rage on his face. Before Minchel could react, John was on him.

Sherlock scrabbled backward and pressed himself against the alley wall as John tackled Minchel with ease. He smoothly avoided a punch, grabbed Minchel’s wrist and gave it a nasty twist. John yanked him forward and jabbed his knee hard into the other man’s ribs with a crack. Minchel roared in pain, and buckled to the ground. John hurriedly flipped him onto his front and pinned him down.

“Handcuffs?” he asked, holding out his hand to Sherlock.

Sherlock stared at him dumbly for a moment, before digging into his pocket and pulling out his latest acquisition from Lestrade. John snapped the cuffs around Minchel’s wrists, then dug his mobile out of his pocket to call Lestrade.

Sherlock only half listened as John told the DI where they were. He was still processing the ease at which John had taken down a man nine inches taller than him and at least three stone heavier. John had been strong before, but this- this was an entirely new level. John could probably pick him up if he was so inclined. He could probably wrap his muscular arms around Sherlock’s thighs and swing him off the floor, and then Sherlock would wrap his legs around John’s waist and-

“Sherlock? Sherlock are you alright?”

Sherlock blinked and focused on John. The doctor was still sitting on Minchel, who was quietly grumbling under breath and glaring daggers at the two of them. As their eyes met and held, Sherlock felt his cheeks heat.

Licking his lips, John stood up and crossed over to him. He crouched down between the detective’s knees and peered at him.

“Alright?” he asked quietly, gently cupping Sherlock’s cheek.

Sherlock nodded, he didn’t trust his voice at the moment. Here was John, his John, crouched between his legs and being oh-so-gentle after taking down one of London’s most wanted with ease.

“Did he hit you?” John asked, his words were calm, but Sherlock could hear the steel underneath. He knew that if Minchel had hurt him in any way he’d be leaving the alley worse for the wear.

“I’m fine John, really.”

John smiled at him, and lightly rubbed his thumb over Sherlock’s cheek bone. Sherlock could only stare at him, stunned. In John’s eyes he could see- he could see _everything_. Everything he’d been feeling for John was looking right back at him from John’s warm, smiling eyes.

Sherlock bit his lip as warmth spread through his chest. John’s eyes darted down to Sherlock’s mouth, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips. Sherlock’s heart beat double time in his chest, as John’s eyes darted up to meet his, his pupils were dilated. He wanted Sherlock.

Slowly, John leaned closer, his hands gently cradling Sherlock’s face. Sherlock shut his own eyes, and swallowed hard, his hands coming up to hook on John’s elbows. He felt the heat of John’s body as John’s lips got closer and closer- and then pressed against his forehead.

Sherlock’s eyes flew open in shock. His _forehead_ , John had kissed his _forehead_. It was a sweet kiss yes, but it wasn’t what Sherlock wanted. He opened his mouth to protest when John cut him off.

“Not here Sherlock. I don’t want my first kiss with you to be in a dank alley, with this piece of filth as a witness.”

Sherlock swallowed and nodded. John did have a point.

“Back at the flat yes?” John said smiling.

Sherlock smiled back, exhilaration flowing through him. “If you think that’s best John. I-

“Fucking queers.” Minchel spat.

The warmth bled right off of John’s face as he turned to stare coldly at Minchel. Glaring, he made his way over to the struggling criminal.

 

***

 

“So he put up a fight did he?” Lestrade asked, as two offers carted a bleeding Minchel towards a panda car.

“Yeah. He was attacking Sherlock, so it was self-defense of course.”

“Of course.” Lestrade said, giving them both a knowing look. “You two will come in tomorrow to give your statements okay?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, a dozen snarky replies on the tip of his tongue. He held them all back though, he _needed_ to get back to the flat with John, so they could continue what had nearly happened in the alley. His forehead was still tingling form John’s kiss. If John could have such a profound effect on Sherlock from such a simple gesture, the detective had no idea what would happen when they actually kissed, or when they did- did _more_ ….

“Of course Greg. No worries.” John said smiling at the DI. Greg gave them both another knowing smile and walked off.

“Let’s go home, Sherlock.”

Anticipation swirling through him, Sherlock headed off to hail a cab.

 

***

 

Sherlock practically flew up the stairs to the living room, his body thrumming with anticipation. The cab ride home had been an exercise in restraint. John had sat closer to him than he ever had before, his warm, firm thigh pressed against Sherlock’s.

In the living room Sherlock spun to face John, who’d torn up the stairs behind him. Sherlock strode into John’s personal space and cupped the doctor’s cheeks in his hands. Uncertainty thudded through him, he didn’t have much experience in this area, but god damn it he _wanted_.

John looped his own arms around Sherlock’s waist and drew him closer, until they were pressed together from chest to hips. Their noses brushed against each other and Sherlock felt his heart soar. Here was John, wrapped around him and about to kiss him. He wanted the same thing Sherlock wanted and- suddenly, for some inexplicable reason, cold uncertainty flooded through him. Sherlock knew what he’d seen in John’s eyes in the alley, but was that enough? What if this wasn’t as serious for him as it was for-

“Sherlock? Are you okay?”

John’s voice cut into his inner doubt. The doctor was looking at him with concern. Sherlock swallowed hard, and stared at John, analyzing. His hands slide to the doctor’s shoulders and gave them a squeeze. It was time to put all the years of doubt behind him and be brave.

“John, you have to understand that for me this- this. It’s more than just- it _matters_.”

God, that was inadequate. Why could he never express himself in this area. In all other facets he was perfectly articulate, then here, when it mattered more than anything, his words failed him.

John was smiling at him, his face warm with joy. He slid his hands up Sherlock’s back and cupped the back of his neck, his thumbs rubbing the delicate skin behind Sherlock’s ears.

“It matters to me too Sherlock, more than anything. _This,_ ” he swept his eyes down their bodies. “This is the most important thing I’ve ever done.” John’s smile turned impish, “Now, can I kiss you?”

Sherlock stared at him, his mind whirling and adrenalin surging through him. He tightened his arms around John’s shoulders and nodded, tipping his head down so John could reach.

John grinned and pulled Sherlock down to him until their lips met. It was _glorious_. John’s lips were warm and firm under his own. He pressed his lips gently against Sherlock’s over and over, until the detective was melting against him. At the first flick of John’s tongue against his mouth, Sherlock’s knees went loose. John smiled against his lips and locked his arms around Sherlock’s waist, holding him up. Sherlock’s hands dug into John’s shoulders as John’s tongue slowly glided into his mouth, and curled against his own. He kissed back with enthusiasm, whimpering as John’s tongue flicked over the back of his teeth.

John moaned against his lips and coaxed Sherlock’s tongue into his mouth prompting Sherlock to do some moaning of his own as John lightly sucked on the muscle. Sherlock panted hard as John tipped his head further to the side to deepen the kiss. Just when Sherlock was contemplating begging John to touch him more, the doctor pulled away.

Sherlock looked at him, breathing hard. John’s eyes were dark with hunger. Hunger over _him_.

“God, just _look_ at you.” John growled, “All pink-cheeked and panting over a little kiss.”

Sherlock shivered hard and tried to pull John in for another kiss. The doctor resisted with ease and caught Sherlock’s wrists in one hand and pinned them easily behind his back. Sherlock arched in John’s grip, this was surpassing every single fantasy he’d ever had. His head swam at the sheer amount of strength he felt in John’s hold. John wasn’t hurting him by any means, but the amount of power he felt in the doctor’s grip had him hardening in his pants.

“And that mouth,” John continued, dragging a thumb along Sherlock’s plush lower lip. “This mouth has had me hooked for _years_. But ever since you saw me box it’s been driving me _wild_. You’re always nibbling on it you know? Now _I_ get to bite it.”

He leaned forward and did just that, delivering a sharp nip to Sherlock’s lower lip. Sherlock whimpered in John’s arms, each flex of John’s tendons against his trapped wrists making him shiver.

“Here’s what we’re going to do.” John said, when he’d pulled back, “I’m going to take a shower, and you are going to lie in that big bed of yours and wait for me. Then I’m going to take. You. Apart.”

Sherlock stared at him, his cheeks ablaze, and his cock throbbing. John had done that to him, _his_ John, with a kiss and his words alone.

“Alright?” John asked, smiling and stroking Sherlock’s cheek bone.

“Y-yes John,” Sherlock managed to get out, his voice deep with need.

John gave him a quick kiss and released him. Sherlock hands immediately went to jacket button, wanting to get rid of his clothes as quickly as possible. John hands slid around his own and stopped him.

“I’m looking forward to that, love. You just go lie back and relax.”

Sherlock blinked at him. _Love_.

John gave him another warm smile and kissed his nose. _His nose!_ Before turning around and heading to the bathroom. Sherlock gaped after him for a few moments, too aroused and in love and _everything_ , before he darted after John toward his bed room, hoping to hell John didn’t linger in the shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise the next chapter will be complete and total smut from start to finish! I hope you enjoyed!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we go..ten pages of porn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Lynn for being an awesome beta!

[This song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v3uGDl6gdyQ) was my soundtrack for this chapter. Try listening to it while you read for the full experience. ;)

* * *

 

Sherlock stood panting by the foot of his bed. He could hear the blood pounding in his ears, and his heart was beating a wild tattoo against his shirt. The shower seemed louder than usual and it took all of Sherlock’s considerable will power not to imagine John naked and soapy no less than ten feet away from him. If he did, he knew nothing would stop him from storming into the bathroom and falling to his knees before John.

Taking a deep breath, Sherlock tried to calm down. John would be here soon, and he would… would _full fill his promise._ Sherlock shivered hard at that thought. He’d never gone to bed with anyone else He’d never met anyone he trusted enough to expose himself too, but this was John, and Sherlock found himself _aching_. The warmth of the room was getting to him. He hurriedly yanked off his suit jacket and pulled off his shoes and socks. Now, John would have the pleasure of undressing him, but he wouldn’t over heat. 

The shower shut off and Sherlock jumped. There was soft shuffling from the other side of the glass door, then John’s silhouette grew larger and larger as he approached. When he stepped through Sherlock’s breath caught.

John stood before him, dripping wet and wearing nothing but a towel.

Sherlock swallowed hard as he took in John’s wet, tousled hair and wry smile. The water made his strong shoulders glisten gold in the dim light of the bedroom. Drops trailed down his taught torso, sliding between the ridges of his abs and the grooves of his hip bones. As Sherlock watched, a drop of water caught on one peeked nipple, dangling tantalizingly, before dripping onto John’s toned chest.

Sherlock was _undone_.

John’s eyes were burning into his own, darker than Sherlock had ever seen. He prowled closer, and Sherlock’s breath caught as John came within touching distance.

“God, just look at you.” John growled, cupping Sherlock’s cheeks. “All pink and panting and I haven’t even touched you.”

Sherlock whimpered and leaned in for a kiss, his hands sliding around John’s trim waist. John kissed him deeply, his tongue sliding firmly into Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock gasped against John’s mouth, as the doctor pressed against him. The water from John’s body soaked into Sherlock’s shirt, making the silk cling deliciously to his skin. John pressed one more hard kiss to Sherlock’s lips before pulling back.

“Have you ever done this before, Sherlock?” John asked, his hands tangled in Sherlock’s hair.

Sherlock shook his head and leaned down for anther kiss, but John gently stopped him.

“You’ve never kissed anyone?”

Sherlock swallowed and forced his mind to focus on John’s words. “I’ve kissed people, but not for the romance of it, for the work,” he said, gently running his hands up John’s back and enjoying his shiver.

“Have you ever done anything else?”

Sherlock shook his head, his body suffused with heat. “Can we get on with it please, John? I want to kiss _you_.”

John grinned and pulled him down for a deep kiss, his tongue peeking out to stroke Sherlock’s lower lip. He slowly trailed his lips across Sherlock’s jaw, making the detective shiver.

“Has anyone every kissed you here, Sherlock?” John whispered, pressing a kiss behind Sherlock’s ear.

_Oh God_. Sherlock shook his head, shivering again.

“What about here?” John purred, kissing down the column of his throat. Sherlock shook his head again, moaning as John’s hands began working on the buttons of his shirt. Soon the shirt was a puddle of purple silk behind them and John’s hands were skating up Sherlock’s sides, making him shake in pleasure.

“Or here?” John asked, laying open mouthed kisses across Sherlock’s collar bone.

“ _John._ ” God, the things this man did to him!

“What about here, hum?” John husked, his mouth hovering over Sherlock’s left nipple, his warm breath ghosting over the nub.

Sherlock gasped, his head falling back as John’s lips closed over his nipple, flicking it with his tongue. His hands clawed into John’s shoulders. He knew his nipples were sensitive, but this- this was something else entirely. No one had ever- this was _amazing_.

John’s tongue slowly circled the nub, before lapping over the entire thing. Sherlock cried out in pleasure as he hung onto John for dear life. His doctor’s arms were tight around his waist, the muscles flexing as Sherlock trembled in his arms.

Pulling back, John smiled wickedly up at him. The dim light of the room threw the muscles of his shoulders into stark relief. That, paired with his tousled hair and roughish smile, made John look incredible sexy.

“What do you want Sherlock?” he growled, ducking down to press a quick kiss to Sherlock’s nipple, making the detective yelp.

What did he want? Gazing down at John’s body, he licked his lips, considering his options. He wanted to lay John down and lick every drop of water from his body. He wanted to have John pin him down and fuck him like one of his fantasies. He wanted- he wanted- his eyes fell to the bugle in John’s towel, where his cock was straining against the fabric.

“I- I want to suck you,” he panted, his eyes locking with John’s. “I want you to sit on the bed and I want to suck your cock.”

John’s eyes went dark, and he licked his lips. “God, you’re sexy,” he growled, giving Sherlock a hard kiss before heading over to the bed. He unwrapped the towel and tossed it aside, before sitting with his legs spread wide and feet planted on the floor.

“Come here gorgeous.” John said, beckoning Sherlock over.

Just as Sherlock was about to drop to his knees before John, the doctor stopped him again. Sherlock looked up at him in confusion, his mind spinning with lust.

“I think we should get these off before we get started, don’t you?” John said, tugging lightly at the waist of Sherlock’s trousers.

Sherlock blushed and nodded. He kept his eyes locked with John’s as he slowly unfastened his trousers and slid them down his legs. John’s eyes followed his movements, his eyes blazing brighter as more of Sherlock’s skin was revealed.

“No pants, you naughty thing.” John purred, licking his lips as his eyes roamed over Sherlock’s body.

Sherlock felt a flush spread over his face and down his chest. He’d thought he had a good body before he’d met John, not out of arrogance, just pure fact. But with John looking at him like that, as if Sherlock was something to eat, he felt like preening for the first time in his life.

“Come here you gorgeous thing.” John said, taking one of his hands and pulling him close. Sherlock went eagerly, falling to his knees between John’s thighs and peering up at him.

John gently cupped Sherlock’s face in his hands and kissed him softly. “Take your time, alright love? We have all the time in the world.”

“Yes John,” Sherlock said, as he smiled at him and kissed him again, before pulling back and eyeing John’s cock.

It was longer than average (something Sherlock had deduced long ago) and thick where it stood up proudly from a thatch of blond curls.

Leaning forward, Sherlock pressed a kiss to the tip, enjoying John’s sharp inhale. He knew how to give head in theory, he was inexperienced not naïve, and was determined to please John.  So far, so good it seemed. Looking up at John through his lashes, he flicked his tongue over the slit, licking off the pre-come that had gathered there. John’s mouth dropped open in pleasure, his hands fisting in the blankets on either side of his thighs.

Feeling more confident, Sherlock licked a long strip up the side of John cock, before sucking the tip into his mouth. He sucked gently, testing out what pressure John liked best.

“God Sherlock. Just-just a l-little hard _er!_ ”

John’s words went up an octave as Sherlock obeyed, tightening his lips around John’s cock. John’s eyes fluttered shut as Sherlock swallowed more, going slowly so he wouldn’t gag. He couldn’t fit very much into his mouth and he frowned to himself. He wanted to be able to swallow John to the root, and taste all of him. He huffed and tried to fit more into his mouth, his jaw twinging as he gaged.

“Easy love, easy.” John panted above him, his hands sliding into Sherlock’s hair and guiding him back gently.

Sherlock followed the motion of John’s hands, wiggling his tongue along the underside of his cock. John hissed above him and Sherlock’s cock twitched between his own legs. He lightly ran his hands up John’s slick legs, rubbing the hair the wrong way and enjoying the feel of hard muscle under soft skin. Sherlock wrapped a hand around the base of John’s shaft and stroked upward to meet his lips. John let out a deep groan and bucked his hips making Sherlock jump slightly. It wasn’t unpleasant, just a surprise. John gasped out something that sounded like an apology, but Sherlock paid him no mind. He was having _fun_.

He hummed in pleasure around John’s cock, causing the man to gasp raggedly. Feeling inspired, Sherlock did it again and again, all the while keeping up the motions of his tongue, until John was arching above him, his hands tight in Sherlock’s hair. Smirking to himself Sherlock hollowed his cheeks, before pulling back and mouthing over the glands and slit. Swallowing John’s cock again, he began to bob his head, John’s warm hands helping him find a rhythm.

Soon, John was letting out a continuous string of moans as Sherlock worked him over with his tongue and hands. He found the pressure that John loved the most and was using it to his advantage, one hand stroking John’s shaft, while the other rolled and caressed John’s balls.

John started panting harder above him, and his thighs began to tense. His hands slid to Sherlock’s jaw and pulled the detective off with a wet pop. Sherlock went willingly, pumping his hand faster over John’s cock and staring at John in wonder.

John looked _gorgeous._ His eyes were shut tight in pleasure, his lips parted and the muscles of his thighs rippling as he writhed under Sherlock’s touch. As he watched, John’s eyes fluttered open, darkening as he caught Sherlock’s gaze.

“Can’t come in you yet love. D-don’t want you to choke,” he gasped.

Sherlock grinned up at him, adding a twist on the up stroke that had John moaning. “We’ve plenty of time John,” he said, with a kiss and flick to the tip of John cock.

That did it. With a ragged cry, John tossed his head back and came. Sherlock let out a moan as John’s hot come splashed over his chest and chin, painting him. He kept up the motions of his hand as John shuddered through the aftershocks. With a groan John slumped forward, peeling open his eyes and gazing softly at Sherlock.

Holding John’s gaze, Sherlock swiped his thumb through the come on his chin and licked it off. John’s eyes darkened and glinted in the low light of the bedroom.

“God, you perfect, sexy man. Come _here_ ,” John growled, wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s back and pulling him up.

Before Sherlock was quite sure what was happening, he found himself on his back on the bed, with a grinning John Watson on top of him.

“Your turn now, Sherlock.” With that he leaned down for a scorching kiss that had Sherlock rutting against John in no time.

“You were amazing you know.” John growled as he kissed his way down Sherlocks neck. “So perfect, putting that pretty mouth to such good use.”

Sherlock whimpered, both at the praise and at the fact that John was sucking a bruise into the skin over his collar bone. The whimper soon turned into a moan as John sucked the thin skin between his teeth, and nibbled at it.

Not giving Sherlock any recovery time, John kept _going._ Laying kisses all over Sherlock’s chest, until he reached his nipples.

“These are sensitive, aren’t they?” he breathed damply against Sherlock’s chest, making him shiver, and thrust his chest toward John’s mouth. He needed to feel John’s mouth on him again, sucking and biting and- and-

“Sherlock, I asked you a _question_.” John scolded, cutting into his thoughts.

 “Are.” John licked lushly over his nipple.

“These.” A delicate flick to the tip.

“Sensitive?” A hard suck before John pulled back, his mouth tantalizing close to Sherlock’s chest. Their eyes locked and Sherlock struggled to find his voice. Clearly John wasn’t going to continue until he answered.

“Yes! Yes, John they are! Please, ple-

His words were cut off as John swooped down and sucked hard at the other nub. Taking it into his mouth and working it with his tongue. Sherlock’s hands flew to the back of John’s head, tangling in John’s hair and encouraging his movements. John bared his teeth and Sherlock nearly levitated off the bed as the doctor tugged lightly at his nipple, before soothing it with lavish licks.

Soon, Sherlock’s nipples were puffy and pink, and even the tiniest flick of John’s tongue hand him arching off the bed. John smirked at him and continued kissing down Sherlock’s body. Down his side and around his navel, then a few more feather light kisses around his belly button when he found out it made Sherlock giggle.

Sherlock went still as John lay long, wet kisses over his hip bone, moving closer and closer to his cock. His strong hands kept Sherlock’s hips pinned to the bed, preventing him from twisting toward John’s mouth. Just as his lips were millimeters from Sherlock’s shaft, John by passed it entirely, laying kisses over Sherlock’s quivering thighs instead.

“John!” Sherlock cried, his voice ragged. “John please!”

“All in good time darling, all in good time.” John soothed, kissing his way down Sherlock’s leg. Sherlock shivered at the implication. How long was Joh going to keep him like this? He looked forward to finding out.

“Roll over, lovely.” John purred, laying one last kiss to Sherlock’s ankle. Sherlock swallowed and complied, whining as his cock was pressed against the sheets. John began slowly kissing his way up Sherlock’s other leg, pausing to suck at the delicate skin covering the back of his thigh. When he got to his arse John, once again, by passed it entirely, and followed the groove of Sherlock’s spine with his lips. By the time John reached the nape of his neck, whispered pleas were falling from Sherlock’s bitten lips.

John chuckled darkly, and nipped Sherlock’s ear lobe.

“John-John please.” Sherlock whispered, his voice horse.

John sucked at the delicate skin under Sherlock’s ear for a moment, before replying.

“How can I say no to such pretty pleading?” John said, the smirk in his voice obvious. Then he was sliding down Sherlock’s body again.

John delicately trialed the tip of his tongue down Sherlock’s spine, making the detective cry out. His cry blended into a sharp gasp as John pressed a lavish kiss to one of his arse cheeks.

“This arse has been driving me mad since the day we met. Did you know that?” John said, as he mouthed over said arse. Sherlock let out a strangled sound and shook his head, wiggling slightly to rub his cock against the sheets.

John’s hands slid from his hips to spread his cheeks wide, bearing Sherlock’s most intimate area. Sherlock went still under John’s scrutiny. No one had ever _seen_ him like this, but he trusted John more than anyone. John was- his thoughts abruptly went off the rails as John licked him from balls to coccyx.

It felt _delicious_.

Sherlock’s head spun as John began placing sucking kisses down his crack, getting closer and closer to his hole. When he finally kissed Sherlock over his opening the detective wailed in way he didn’t think he was capable of.

“God Sherlock those _noises_.” John growled, before diving back in.

He teased Sherlock’s rim with devastatingly light flicks of his tongue, alternated with deep sucking kisses. The lewd, wet noises filled the room, as John broke him to bits with nothing but his tongue. Sherlock was going to lose his mind; he was sure of it. No one could be soaked in pleasure for this long and emerged unscathed. It wasn’t possible.

He rutted desperately into the mattress, chasing the pleasure pooled deep in his belly. Immediately John’s hands clamped onto his hips, stilling them. Sherlock gasped in protest, but John’s hold was firm.

“Did I say you could rut into the bed like a little tart?” John growled, his lips now less than inch from Sherlock’s ear.

Sherlock shook his head, his lust spiking at John’s tone.

“Answer me pet.” John continued, nipping harshly at Sherlock’s neck.

“N-no John.” Sherlock gasped, twisting to look at him.

John eyes were glittering with lust. When he caught Sherlock’s eye he grinned devilishly at him. “‘No John’, what?”

Sherlock swallowed, his cheeks heating. It was absurd. He’d just had John’s tongue _licking his hole_ , and _this_ was what made him blush.

“No John. You didn’t- didn’t say I could rut like a- a tart,” he gasped, his blush deepening.

“Such a good boy,” John purred, “Hands and knees love. I don’t think you’ll be able to resist any other way.”

Shakily, Sherlock pushed himself onto his forearms and knees, John’s hands helping him into position. Once John was satisfied he was properly positioned, he spread Sherlock’s cheeks again and dove back in. Soon, he was pressing the tip of his tongue against Sherlock’s loosened muscle, wiggling his way inside. Sherlock blurrily raised his head from where it hung between his shoulders. He felt practically insensate with pleasure, his mind filled to the brim with _John_.

When John’s tongue finally breached his entrance, and began to slowly slide in and out of him, Sherlock snapped.

“ _John!_ John, please _please!_ Have mercy!”

John pulled back and slid up Sherlock’s body. “Tell me what you need, love.”

Sherlock’s entire body shook in pleasure as he tried to formulate a coherent thought. It was too much. With a weak moan, Sherlock’s arms gave out and he found his face buried in the pillow.

John’s strong arms slid around his waist and gently flipped Sherlock over onto his back.

“Alright love?” John asked, crouched between Sherlock’s thighs. His eyes were filled with concern as he gently stroked a lock of sweaty hair off Sherlock’s forehead.

Sherlock gulped and nodded, wrapping his arms weakly around John. He could feel his cock, hot and hard against his belly.

“Touch me John. Please touch me.”

John smiled warmly at him and gave him a deep kiss. “Of course love. Of course. My god you’re beautiful.”

“The things you do to me John,” Sherlock rumbled, pulling John down for another kiss. When they parted both men’ s eyes were impossibly soft.

Pressing a kiss to the corner of Sherlock’s mouth, John sat back and grabbed a pillow.

“Lift up love,” he said, tapping Sherlock’s hip. “Lube?” he asked, after tucking the pillow under the detective.

“Beside drawer,” Sherlock said, running his hands up John’s sides, and taking deep breathes.

John leaned over and rummaged for the lube. Snapping it open, he let his eyes wander down Sherlock’s body.

“So tell me Sherlock, how many nights have you lain back, lubed up those gorgeous fingers and stuffed them up that pretty hole?”

 

Just like that Sherlock was suffused with lust once more.

 

“I-

“What do you think of, I wonder?” John continued, spreading lube over his fingers meticulously. His eyes locked with Sherlock’s, “Did you think of me?”

Sherlock blushed and nodded.

“Before or after you saw me boxing?” John asked, with a mischievous grin.

“Before- long before that John.”

John’s eyes softened and he leaned down for a kiss, using his clean hand to brace himself on the mattress. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s shoulders, cradling the back of John’s head with one hand. He let out a squeak as he felt a lubed finger glide over his hole.

“Ready for more, love?” John whispered against his lips.

Sherlock gulped and nodded. If John could render him senseless with his tongue, he couldn’t wait to see what he could do with his fingers.

Gently, John slid his pointer finger into Sherlock’s body. The detective gasped and tossed his head back as he was breached for the first time. Thanks to John’s thorough rimming, there was no pain, and he could just enjoy the slow glide of John’s finger in and out of him.

John kissed him deeply, keeping up the smooth press and glide of his finger and maddeningly keeping his weight off of Sherlock’s cock. Sherlock moaned against John’s lips as the doctor added a second finger. The stretch burned a little, but John gentled his movements until the pleasure took over once again.

Soon Sherlock’s hips found John’s rhythm, his hips rolling with each thrust of John’s deft fingers.

“Alright love?” John asked, their noses brushing.

Sherlock nodded helplessly, tossing his head on the pillow.

“Look at me Sherlock.”

Sherlock stilled and peered up at John, panting hard. Keeping their eyes locked, John slowly curled his fingers upward and dragged them over Sherlock’s prostate. Sherlock cried out, his eyes rolling back as John stroked him again. He’d touched himself like this before, but it couldn’t compare to deft movements of John’s hands, or the way he didn’t know what John was going to do next.

He let out a ragged cry as John’s lips closed over his nipple, the delicate flick of his tongue a delicious counter point to the firm thrust of his fingers. Sherlock’s skin was on fire, white sparks dancing behind his eye lids as John tormented him in the best possible way. His pleasure notched higher and higher which each glide over his prostate and lick to his nipple, but his orgasm sat tauntingly out of reach. He was so, _so_ close.

“John, touch me! please I need-

A particularly hard suck to his nipple cut him off.

“ _John!_ ”

John chuckled against his chest and licked his way to Sherlock’s mouth for a kiss.

“Can’t you come like this Sherlock? If I just keep touching you right _here,_ won’t that be enough?”

Sherlock whined and shook his head, shaking. He needed _more_.

“I guess I’ll just have to up the ante then.”

With that John dove down and swallowed Sherlock’s cock to the root.

Sherlock howled and arched off the bed as John hollowed his cheeks and _sucked_. The entire world narrowed down to John’s fingers and tongue, his mind blanking out to nothing but a litany of _John John John._

He was babbling, he was sure of it, as hips flexed off the bed. It was too much, it wasn’t enough. John hummed around his cock, his fingers keeping up his relentless assault of Sherlock’s prostate as he bobbed his head. Sherlock’s pleasure shot higher and higher, his hands clawing at the bed sheets as John drove him wild.

Finally, with one sinful undulation of John’s tongue and a stroke to his prostate Sherlock came. The world crashed and burned around his ears as he came down John throat. Pleasure shot through his limbs as he shouted John’s name. It lasted longer than any of his solo orgasms, the pleasure and satisfaction crashing over him in waves that went on and on. He thought he would die from the sheer amount of pleasure coursing through him.

John gentled the movements of his mouth and hands, guiding Sherlock back to earth as he slumped back onto the mattress. His body felt rung out in the best possible way. As he came back to himself he slowly opened his eyes. John was propped on one elbow next to him, looking very pleased with himself. Sherlock smiled back lazily and yanked John on top of him, smothering the doctors face against his neck. John landed with an ‘oomph’ but Sherlock could feel him smiling against his neck.

“John, that was amazing!” he said, wrapping his arms tight around John’s back, not caring about the come smeared between them.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” John replied, his words muffled where he was pressed against Sherlock’s neck.

Sherlock hummed and cuddled John closer. His fingers traced over the muscles of John’s back, enjoying the feel of the hard, compact body on top of his. John propped himself up on Sherlock’s chest and pressed a kiss to the detective’s lips.

“You were mesmerizing, love.”

Sherlock felt his cheeks heat, but John simply kissed him again and rolled onto his side, pulling Sherlock with him. They exchanged lazy kisses and Sherlock felt himself melt further and further into the mattress. The exhaustion from the case and the exhilaration of the sex blended together into a warm sort of sleepiness.

“Sleep Sherlock,” John said softly, pulling him close.

Sherlock burrowed his head against John’s shoulder and shut his eyes. “It’s only four in the afternoon, John. We’re getting old.”

John chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. “You need your rest; we did just finish a case. When you wake up we’ll go to dinner. How does that sound?”

Sherlock yawned and nodded, sleep tugging at him.

“And after dinner,” John continued, his own voice starting to fade, “I’ll lay you out over my bed and fuck you. How does that sound?” A note of mischief had entered John’s voice.

Sherlock’s eyes snapped wide open against John’s neck. He leaned up and pressed a hard kiss to the doctor’s lips.

“John, that sounds _wonderful_.”

John grinned at him and pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s nose. “Nap it is then.”

Sherlock huddled back closer to John, a smile on his face and his body warm and sated. As he drifted off he couldn’t help but be thankful that John had decided to take up boxing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read, bookmarked, commented, left kudos and subscribed! Everyone meant the word to me! Next up I have an alpha/omega johnlock fic in the works!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it, please tell me what you think! Our John is a sly one, isn't he?


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